Crown of Thorns
by crueltyandthebeastx
Summary: He's solved every case that he was ever assigned. It's just too bad the Federal Bureau of Investigation had other ideas about that... Detective Loki is on the hunt for the most dangerous killer he's faced yet, drugs. A horrible epidemic of overdoses has swept Pennsylvania in recent weeks, putting him and the rest of Conyers PD on notice...while capturing the notice of the Feds in t
1. Chapter 1

The lights of the street were dark; the bulbs under the metal hoods had been shot out weeks ago, merely seven hours after the city had them replaced. The cherry end of a cigarette burned in the pitch blackness of the alley in the shelter of a navy blue Ford Escort. A brunette with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail sat in the dark with that lit cigarette, dragging deeply off it and making it burn brighter. The windows were all rolled up and the doors were locked down, glass tinted black; nothing was getting in there with her and likewise, the smoke wasn't getting out. It was good that she enjoyed the lonesome sound of silence and the smell of burned tobacco and clove. She enjoyed the burn on her tongue that the clove cigarettes left; the Marlboros she used to crave long since left in the past. She watched the transaction across the street from the protection of that dark vehicle. She'd been the one to call it in but she was waiting for the gang's upper echelon members to arrive. "Come on, show me your mean, boys." She muttered to herself, smoke curling out of her nose and puffing out of her mouth, clove tingling her tongue. "Where're your daddies?"

Meanwhile, over thirty miles away, Conyers Police Department was following up on the second overdose in their county in the span of a week. A detective, rather young in appearance to fit the title, stood over the ME's metal table, a body under a sheet the cause of this detective's late hours. Despite his young appearance the detective had faded, tired eyes that belonged on a career cop three times his age. Likewise, for being dead the body under the sheet looked much too slight and young to be so eternally cold.

"Loki, Jesus, don't you ever take a night off? You look like something Vlad would drop off for me." The ME, Florence Belter, commented with a note of care. She was fifty-nine and knew the hazards of a no-family all-job lifestyle. "Find a girl, son. Get hitched and have babies."

"Right." Loki replied dryly, short, curt. "So I can bring them into this world? What kind of a parent would I be then?"

"One that actually understands the stakes." Flo breathed a sigh, then continued. "I suppose you're here for her…" She didn't wait for his reply before uncovering the head and shoulders. "Deceased female, adolescent Caucasian; I wouldn't put her age over fourteen. Official cause of death is asphyxia due to emesis – vomit – due to overdose of heroin as shown by the tox screen. No form of identification was found on the body. I sent dental records up to Philly. She had a crown on her back molar so that should pick up an identity for you in 24 hours, give or take."

"Thanks, Flo." Loki had been taking notes the entire time. At the conclusion, he flipped the book closed and slapped the edge of the table with it. "Give my best to Susan."

Florence smiled like there was no death to weigh her down. "She's starting junior high this year. It's been so rewarding doing this volunteer outreach thing…" Yet another prod to try and get him on the path to that: a family.

He tries to grin but it comes off pained.

He's got too much on his mind for a girl or family, or whatever else.

And these overdoses were really starting to bother him…

By the time Loki made it to his car his eyes were blinking feverishly. It was a facial tic, one he barely noticed anymore…until someone else did.

Ѫ

It was late morning when Loki made it home. Finally… He wouldn't have even minded if the Captain let him sleep in one of the empty interrogation rooms. He hated going home. There wasn't anything for him here, not anymore, not for a long time now. Or so it seemed on those odd occasions he let himself think about it… It was too goddamned quiet. Not to mention he lived in a place that was, by its very nature, a dump. The door creaked in protest of its use as he came inside, keys clattering as he haphazardly plunked them down on the side table. He didn't really have a foyer or hall that led from his door to the rest of his shit Brownstone rental. It was a one bedroom, one bath, on the outskirts of town; that was its only redeeming quality really…

Next stop was messages on his answering machine but, alas, he never had any. All calls for work were patched through his cell phone and anything pertaining to his rental property was handled immediately by the super of the complex. It was a good thing, once in a blue moon, to be a detective for the police when delinquent landlords turn up. He blinked a few more times when the machine told him he had zero messages, raising an eyebrow and curling his upper lip up as if to say he wasn't surprised, but then, one could always hope.

He marched himself into the back, into his bedroom, sitting on the very edge of his bed like a perch and took his boots off. David wasn't like normal people, not so much anyway; instead of kicking off his shoes he took them off one at a time by undoing the laces first. He would then methodically line them up even with one another, toe to heel, in front of his closet. He peeled his shirt off of his tattooed body and folded it neatly on a chair in the corner of his room, following suit with his pants. In boxer briefs and sock feet he pads into the bathroom to run a hot shower. This would complete his ritual – after the old socks and underwear go directly in the hamper – and he would crawl into bed in new socks and underwear to sleep until his next shift called him out. Knowing his schedule and his workload, that was never very long coming.

A line of very disgruntled looking individuals sat handcuffed and shackled to metal chairs single-file in the warehouse the brunette officer raided with her team last night. Over and beyond the call of duty last night, agent Cara Mason tailed all of these men, plus sick more to a warehouse in the marina district of New Jersey. Granted, the drugs had already been in-country for days, but at least they'd taken this load and all these losers off the streets. "Hey, hey, bitch… You wanna suck my cock off after I piss in your mouth?" One of the unfortunates was goading her.

Cara rolled her eyes before looking down at his crotch, not even looking at him or meeting his eyes. She chuckles. "You know that saying: hung like a horse?" The petite agent barely waited for an ounce of recognition or reply before continuing, pulling out a long buck knife with serrated edge and stabbing the seat of the chair between his legs before he could even blink. "I can make you hung like a hamster."

"Tough bitch…while I'm all tied up here…" His tone was tightly controlled, trying to regain his macho testosterone with his buddies present.

She wrenched the knife out of the metal seat, creating a grating sound. "I don't much care if you were lathered up with grill grease; I'd still take you on and I'd still cut off your cock. But, maybe…upon further review I'd make you swallow it when I was done…"

It had been a rough 76 hours and the brunette hadn't slept in longer. She needed to sleep, then 'Netflix and chill,' but she didn't know which order to put them in. This whole thing was a fucking three-ring circus. Thankfully Barnum and Bailey finally called in the tiger and let her do her thing. Good thing, or most of the pinheads in her department would still be trying to find their asses in the dark with both hands… Come to think of it, not even flashlights would be of any help… Cara was on loan from the Boston headquarters of the FBI; all the northeastern states pooled their resources to fight a spike in drugs coming in from Asia well over a year ago and the elite taskforce had been repurposed after that – oddly enough the answer to that case too, was Jersey – and she'd never left. Now she hunted dumb gang bangers and their drugged-out, little pimp-bitch, gun-toting friends and sent them to the only rent-free in existence anymore, courtesy of Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty.

Over a year since she'd had a bust this size…

She ached for the meat of a good case like that again…

Her handler and former lover, Jason Nathaniel Kromer, watched her exit the room before saying anything to her. "I take it that went well…" The man wasn't usually serious and it was throwing her off. The look she gave him said he shouldn't elaborate on that if he wanted to live. "Harsh! Okay, I'll remember that. Is there anything you would like to say? For the record…?" They were talking as they walked down the hall and out into the stuffy summer night, 'er…morning…

"Not a whole lot, no…" Cara commented. "Can you put this on the official report?" And she gave him the finger…

"I could… But, I'm going to do you a solid and negate that you had anything further to report tonight."

"That sounds great, Jay."

"Happy to assist…" His mouth was set in a grim line that somehow, minutely, resembled a smile.

She saluted him in a sloppy sort of way as they came outside. The rest of the taskforce was comprised of two local detectives from Trenton and three more FBI agents that were more muscle than anything else; they certainly couldn't claim the title of genius that Cara could, to paint the picture with broad strokes. Pete Hannigan was her favorite muscle so she went easy on him. "Pete, did you get me those bolt cutters from the truck yet?"

"No ma'am. I heard you were busy with knuckleheads."

"Does that mean I can't do two things at once?"

"No ma'am."

"So what does that mean?"

"Means I'm leaving to get those for you now…" He jogged off just as she smirked.

"Good man."

By the time everything was said and done it was ten in the morning. Cara didn't know whether to say it was late or early anymore; maybe both at once. Her drive home was quiet. Thank the gods for fucking silence! She lived in an apartment complex just outside of the Chambersburg section of Trenton, a building that – besides herself – housed the newlywed and the nearly dead. The elevator reached floor three and she heaved a sigh that she even had to walk to her door from here. Upon entering the brunette locked up behind herself, plopped the keys down on her foyer table, took her bullet proof vest off and let it drop onto the floor, shuffled through the apartment to her bedroom, kicked off her shoes and fell in bed face first and fully clothed. Usually this was her thinking position but not fifteen minutes later, the agent was out like a light.

A phone was ringing somewhere in the void. It was getting louder, sharper, clearer now as pale eyes darted around beneath long-lashed eyelids. Finally they fluttered open and Cara lay glaring at the lit display screen as though it was possessed. "Really, right now!? Fucking animals! Is nothing sacred anymore!?" By the time she answered the other party would have usually given up…it it wasn't Jason.

"Rise and shine, badass."

"Have a horrible morning and piss on you, too. It's way too fucking early." Delicate but capable feminine fingers wiped sleep from her eyes. "It's…" She paused to actually look at the clock. "It's two o'clock. I've been asleep for the better part of three hours. This better be Bishop needing an appendectomy good or I'm hanging up now."

All he had to say was one thing, two or three small words that meant so much more. "It's happening again, Car."

Silence.

"Did you hear what I said to you? You still there…?"

There was a shaky breath inhaled letting him know that there was, indeed, someone still on the line. It took a bit for Cara to respond. She'd been through Hell and back again for that case. It had taken almost two years of her life from her. It wasn't as though she regretted taking the case because she didn't; it was the kind of case careers were made on. Or the kind they tanked on, depending… "I thought it was done." Her tone was calm. Calm was good.

"I thought so, too. But it was international, remember? Just because we cut off their usual contacts, suppliers, and lines here in New Jersey before, doesn't mean they didn't find someone new and start over again someplace else."

"What's the pattern?"

"I don't have specifics or numbers right now; Ryan's got those. He's waiting on you to come in and we'll all have a pow-wow."

"I'm there." While they'd been exchanging words she'd been putting her shoes back on and trading the slept in shirt for a new one. Pants, too? No. No one gave a shit about somebody's pants. Call-ended registered as she grabbed a denim jacket and ran out the door, quick.

Ѫ

Detective Loki lived for his job and it was known to all those around him that he slept only to recharge his mental faculties, never for relaxation or sloth. He arrived back to the station promptly for his shift with new fresh clothing – shirt and pants – socks, and smelling the part of a freshly showered individual. He was a bit anal about his personal hygiene habits, too. One before work and one shower after, before bed. He wouldn't go so far as to say he's a germ-o-phobe or anything but being clean never hurt anyone; and the hot water helped him relax – but let's be honest and say that virtually never works; it's just a compulsion like his blinking and the placement of his shoes, and his constant work, whether at work or elsewhere – at the end of the day.

Almost everyone looked at David like he was an enigma or some other form of unsolvable mystery. No one knew much about him at work outside of Florence, the Medical Examiner, and people didn't really care for her that much either. They only knew what they saw, which was work ethic, a strong almost terrifying mind, and lots and lots of anger. Anger in spades! Rage wasn't a strong enough term for the anger David owned. It emanated off him like heat off macadam in the summer sun. It was mostly a testament to his private personal internal mental and emotional pain, but he'd never tell them that.

Two other detectives eyed him from the broom closet they'd fashioned a break room out of. Their stares were cold and biting; it was incredibly maddening that a person didn't know a thing about another person and they still condemn them to judgment. He walked straight past them to his desk and flipped open the file on the young Jane Doe. The detective had two other files on his desk besides hers, all overdoses and, it would appear, all first time users. It wasn't uncommon for overdoses to occur in any person. The inexperienced users wouldn't know how much to use and the experienced users would be taking too much of a dose to compensate for long-term use and tolerance. Long fingers flipped open all of the files and had them arranged side by side by side in chronological order of when the person was found deceased. There had to be a clue here, something he was missing within these pages that gave him more to go on. Why now? Why were these overdoses suddenly happening now? And, why do many?" Granted, there were only three so far but David was sure there were more elsewhere; he'd put in a request to collect data from other precincts, some federally, but he hadn't heard back yet. And anyway, it was three of these deaths in a three week period of time!

He'd read those files half a dozen times each and he read them again now. As if the ME telling him to go home for once wasn't enough of a clue into his psyche, he wasn't just a work-a-holic. Loki almost never went home when he was on a case, just to shower and most times, if that. Most often other cops or people from town would catch him sleeping in his car; and that was when he slept at all. Recharged or not, David was always on duty on a case…

"Loki, forensics is sending up their report on the DNA evidence collected at the overdoses along with their findings on other samples." One of the older detectives called over.

"Thanks, Harry."

Well, at least that was a step in the right direction…

It didn't take long to figure out that a step in the right direction was two steps back, as it turned out. Detective Loki hadn't been prepared for the report he received. It was as the Medical Examiner had told him, the Jane Doe and his two other overdoses had indeed been overdoses, accidental. The prints and DNA residual on the syringes had matched to the victims which implicated no one else in the death but the deceased themselves. Wonderful. So, no other leads… Swell. He thanked the forensics team and left, even though he wasn't feeling very grateful. He was at another dead end and nothing to show for his efforts, nothing to show for the victims he was sworn to defend and help…to avenge.

The Conyers Police Department sat at the city center next to all the usual suspects where it wasn't very hard to find crime. It practically revolved around them like the earth around the sun. Director Ryan Gregory Bishop sat in the waiting chairs outside of Captain Richard O'Malley's office. It was a visit that had happened before with other local law enforcement leadership. This time, however, was a bit different; the same thing that happened two years ago was happening again but, unlike the last time, a local detective had the signs into a viable equation. This detective had put in a request for Federal and interjurisdictional records on similar cases to the cases he had recently taken, cases that pertained to why Ryan was here…

The Captain opened his door and immediately offered a hand. "Director Bishop, Captain O'Malley; it's a pleasure, sir."

Ryan took the proffered hand and shook it but maintained a steely fixed stare. "Is it really a pleasure, Captain?" It sounded like a question but it wasn't. "We're not meeting at the Police Officers' Ball, really. What is it they say? 'I went to Hell and all they gave me was this lousy t-shirt'?"

"It's no Ball, but I assure you, sir, Conyers is no Hell." He paused for effect. "Please, step into my office and we can speak further."

"I'll keep that in mind, Captain O'Malley. For now, I have nothing further to go on. Perhaps you can begin with telling me about your detectives and how this locale differs from many others…?" It was the same old song and dance but it had to be done, especially now. This had been the only time, to reiterate, that a detective on the local level had even remotely started to put the whole picture together. A half spiel droned on about O'Malley's department before Ryan just…stopped him. "That's all fine and well Captain, but let us…cut to the chase here, shall we? You are not the reason I am here. Your department, generally speaking, is not the reason I am here. You have a single detective that I'm interested in seeing and I have an on-going case of international importance he'd stumbled into. Now, you can oblige me now or you can risk the wrath of the President himself for hindering an investigation that has international and foreign affairs ramifications."

Across town Cara sat with Jason, her legs up and bent, knees up at her chin and her feet planted on the chair cushion. "Ryan was quick to get us here and leave." That was the most she'd said in hours. "Is it a rush or not!? Jesus…"

Jay shook his head. "Patience. You know what that is? Right? Calm down! You have a problem, you know that?"

"Yeah, I have a problem, Jay. I have a problem with things going unfinished, things that should have been fucking finished two years ago!" Her hands gesticulated angrily, bringing her legs down.

"You didn't know these assholes would be back in business. You certainly didn't know it would encompass Jersey again." Jason was trying to talk her down. He should have known Cara's propensity for being hard on herself would take precedence. "Or go further than that…"

"This is on me. Don't even try, Jay."

"Oh, okay, I'm sorry. I forgot. You're the Anti-Christ; everything is your fault. I wondered why I smelled sulfur over here…"

Cara flipped him the bird again; it happened a lot between them. They had that romantic past of casual sex that both of them needed every now and then but it never affected their work relationship; they'd been friends for years before that and they hated each other just enough to keep it real – which was barely hate at all really.

She'd been about to ask him about Ryan Bishop's call for a meeting; their Director had been nothing if not cryptic on the secure line when he'd called them in. Jason was always okay with cryptic. It was never Cara's strong suit… She'd go into any situation, do any job, but she always had to know for what and why. It was what made her a superb agent…and a gigantic pain in the ass. "Speak of the Devil…" Jason commented, grinning as he looked up, his cell buzzing with their Director's programmed codename showing. "And he shall appear…" Cara's eyes locked onto his and he grinned comically. "Oh, sorry! Forgot, that was you." She smiled tightly back at him as if to say she wasn't amused at all at the same time 'stick it up your ass' was implied. He answered. "Sup, boss?"

The call was brief. Ryan updated his team as to his whereabouts and approximate time of return. Jason and Cara were both prime agents but neither one liked sharing things with the local cops. They hadn't liked his update one bit; but they didn't have to. He hadn't told them about his real reason for the visit. Sure, it was the tip-off to the locals that was customary when the Feds were in town and pulling jurisdiction and rank, but it was secretly more; he wouldn't go so far as to say recruitment was in the cards but it could be. This detective was good, better than standard. As Ryan looked further into him, this detective was looking even more like potential. Once he'd proctored enough information from the Captain, also reading over the detective's jacket a couple times, he'd made the Captain – also a poor excuse for one of those seeing as he wasn't acting at all his rank and dressed like a derelict grabbing a used suit at good will – fetch Detective David Wayne Loki at once. It didn't take the Captain long to find the detective, and why should it? From everything he'd just read the detective was always at work; he had no personal life to speak of either, which would come in handy on cases like this. It was too bad this wouldn't end up a collaborative effort…

"Director Bishop, this is the detective you asked me about. He's the best one Conyers has, sir, and…"

"How nice for you. I'll be brief." Ryan looked up into the two sets of eyes before him. He stood and the detective blinked in such a way that screamed 'facial tic.' "What I hoped to accomplish in coming here and having you all go to this…trouble, is that in that you would realize who I am, who I represent and what _**we**_ do. There will be no need for an actual meeting or exchange of information. What you have will be turned over to my people as soon as humanly possible. You will cease and desist from all investigations and leads garnered in regards to this case. I don't want to even smell Conyers PD or Detective Loki on or around this. This is a Federal case now. Have I made my points clear enough that you both understand them?"

Loki blinked repeatedly as his sudden anger was spiking to a crescendo. He found his voice when the stranger was finally done. "With all due respect, sir, you may have the pull of jurisdiction over us here at the local level but you have no right pulling me off this case." He wasn't yelling but damn if he didn't want to. "I've worked hard on this. There hasn't been a case I haven't closed. And beside all that, I made promises to some families that I'd see this through." The agitated blinking hadn't stopped yet.

Ryan Bishop smiled in a most saccharine way, too sweet and fake emotion down to the sympathetic core. "With all due respect; do you know what I hate about that? No one ever says that to you when they're sincere about it; it's almost always followed by some form of disrespect. First of all, you mistake my ending before with a question as your chance for a rebuttal and that's just…not the case here. There are no exceptions to my requests and they are to be handled and processed timely. Secondly, Detective Loki, I don't really give a good goddamn if you promised to learn how to fly to the moon and bring those families back a star; it is not happening. You won't give them anything, least of all the justice they seek. Now, before I give the two of you anymore reason to debate me, I'll be on my way. Good day to you both." He exited promptly and was met with only stony silence at the door. It followed him all the way out of the Conyers Police Department headquarters.

David waited until he was sure the Director of…whatever division of the FBI he was from was gone down the hall before speaking to his Captain. "Are we really going to acquiesce to that fucking blowhard?" Mad blinking…

Captain O'Malley was still finding a silent receptacle for all of his anger. It was all he could do to control the tone and inflection in his voice. "Officially, yes; there's nothing more I can do. He's pulled rank on me and Federal always comes first." He paused and when he spoke again there was a lit fuse behind every word. "Unofficially… I say you make copies of all your files and solve this thing. Do it your way. Nobody talks to my finest detective that way."


	2. Chapter 2

The table was long and usually filled up to capacity with bodies. Tonight it was only three men and one woman. It might seem odds were stacked against her; the testosterone levels outmatched her in every way, but Cara was tenacious and nothing if not adaptable. She played with all the big dogs just fine. There was a moment of silence as everyone present settled in their seats and waited for the boss in the room to start it off. Ryan Bishop sat at the head of the table, Cara Mason and Jason Kromer to his left side down the length of the table, and Pete Hannigan to his right side. Every face in the room, which appeared to be an open floor plan with a board with multiple slides that served as an investigation and lead posting site, was some degree of severity on pulsing facial muscles. The board was already beginning to be filled up with the known variables. By definition itself, the word used in that way wasn't meant to be reassuring. Variables always were more complex than what they seemed, after all.

"Everyone should have their briefing documents." It wasn't a question. Ryan was notorious for that tone. Without further delay all four of them opened the manila folders before them on the scarred, burned, ancient table. "On page one you'll find all the case information from the first Hammerhead case, the one we closed – or at least we thought we did. Turn to page two and you'll all see your immediate directives pertaining to the new case. Because they pay me to act, not to be witty, this case is codename Hammerhead 2.0. Officially…unofficially we'll stick with the initial title. Less confusion…" He swallowed, taking a sip of his black coffee before clearing his throat and continuing. "Page three will find for you any and all contacts outside the Division that you might need. These contacts are not to be contacted unless we've met with desperation. Local contacts were all burned or paid off our last time out. The last thing we need is more of that." He was looking at his own file for a moment before he looked up and caught Cara's eyes. "Not to mention this…Detective Loki is fit to be a problem, even now when I've made it clear where the ball is in terms of court… He's like a pit bull with his lock-jaw on this case, any case."

Cara's lips pulled tight. "Well, he might be a pain in the ass but nobody beats me in the field. Even if he gets a whiff of the plan, we're good. He arrests me ever, we're still good. I don't break, remember?"

Pete and Jay exchanged glances. Peter replied. "Excuse my arrogance or ignorance or whatever but isn't that still a detriment to our job? The local cops shouldn't know shit. They certainly shouldn't know enough about Hammerhead to be arresting our inside man…'er, woman."

Ryan must have agreed but he didn't say as much aloud. He stared across from him, down the length of the table, his eyes having that faraway look. While he was deep in thought, Cara scoffed. "If this detective is that fucking good to arrest me, to even smell there's a bigger case here; then, I'm hedging my bets that he's not giving this up. He's already got his teeth in it. So, why don't we just follow up? I mean, if he's got the knack for this, let's use him. Right…?"

"Wrong." Ryan finally spoke. "He's a hot-shot detective but he's got a hot temper. We already have one loose cannon running around here; I don't need another one."

"Oh, whatever do you mean…?" Cara's tone was faux confusion with a derisive smile and similar laugh that said he could suck her dick…if she had one. And on top of that look he gave her at the pit bull comment, too…

"I mean, Cara, that if you get yourself killed, caught, or arrested, I will have no recourse but to read some of the locals in and then we'll see how quickly your cavalier attitude will be to show its smug face. The tighter we keep this the better. I want shenanigans kept to a minimum. If you think about showing off, don't. It's in everyone's best interests if we stick to the dossier and our responsibilities. Now, check your disagreeable fucking attitude before I am forced to check it for you. Get. To. Work."

He didn't say anymore and he didn't have to. They all had their assignments; they all knew their jobs and they all knew their lives – and a Hell of a lot of innocent lives – were at risk if they didn't finish this. When the silence felt too heavy they all got up and made their way out. Cara was quicker on her long lithe dancer's legs, that could also be considered deadly weapons. Jason had to sprint to catch up to her.

"Hey, Distemper, wait up!"

The nickname said it all. Cara had been in a bad place all her life and growing up with all that she had, well, that just didn't help. Her nickname was due to an affliction but it wasn't to be confused with the viral canine definition of the word. "Don't fucking call me that." As if she could prove its use as accurately as that in any other way. "What do you want, Jay? Don't try to stop me."

"Jesus, I wasn't going to stop you. I just want you to know, as per usual…I got your back, babe."

His sincerity was obvious and to be frank, he'd never **not** had her back before. That was not only why they worked well together but also had a successful casual sex thing going on; not for a while now, but there it was.

Her heart almost thawed…almost. Her retort certainly faltered for a moment. "I've got it handled." It was short, curt, to the point.

"Yeah…" Jason commented, a smirk taking his mouth, his eyes knowing, eyebrows tipped up by the incredulity. "Famous last words, right? It's a good thing nobody here just trusts you when you say that shit."

Cara didn't answer back. Normally, she would have or she would have tackled him to the ground and pulverized him; but, now wasn't the time. This was the most personal a case had ever gotten for her; like Detective Loki – and unbeknownst to Cara, as yet – they both took to this case and personalized it because of something they'd seen in the victims, in the waste, that they recognized in themselves. She raised her right arm, waving goodbye at him nonchalantly, the tattoo on the inside of her right forearm – a tattoo depicting the Egyptian god Anubis surrounded by a block of hieroglyphs, something she'd taken off of a funereal scroll in one of her many books; books she'd accumulated over most of her travels – flashing him a certain god-like smugness.

Jason kept smirking until long after she'd gone. "Oh yeah, this one is gonna kill me yet…" He chuckles. "Not that I'm not gonna enjoy it!"

Across town in a dark blue sedan, department issued, Loki sat in the driver's side, beanie cap pulled low, toothpick sticking out from between his lips the way his cigarettes used to. Hell, he still smoked sometimes! It was a small price to pay in the vice department; not at all like what he'd used to find enjoyable in the past… He guess that was why he was out here right now, parked about a half block down from a known dealer hot-spot. If he could catch one of the stupid kids selling he might be able to find out more about this shit that's been killing more of the juveniles in the neighborhood. Of course, he had to catch the right stupid kid; most kids that had been dealing more than a couple months were hardened to cop busts and couldn't be hustled. So, that left the detective to find one of the newbies…

It took hours of his time – let it never be said this vocation didn't require patience at the very least – but blue eyes finally set upon Jose Miguel. The delinquent wasn't older than fourteen and wasn't much of an actual delinquent…yet. Loki snatched his beanie off, tossed it on the passenger seat and got out of the car, all in one fluid move; he took the toothpick out and threw it on the macadam next to the curb as Jose came around the corner.

"Shit, man…you know that's littering, dog!? I should make a citizen's arrest on you, bro!"

David looked like he was really working his way up to worrying about that. Incredulous about covered it… "Stop throwing all those ridiculous pronouns, synonyms, words that are not what I am to you, at me. I'm not your bro, your dog, and despite being a man in the gender sense, I'm not _**your**_ man. Anyways your Grandma would turn over in her grave if I let you get away with that language! Shit's a real travesty!"

"A what!?"

"Precisely, you little shit! Someone needs more school and less time here logging dope credits for county."

"I'd only make juvie, man – 'er, sir."

Loki looked expectant. "That's what I thought. And not for long, you keep pulling this shit, Jose… Let's get you a donut and we can chat."

"Hell, no, man." The kid didn't correct himself then. "I'm on this corner 'til six! I move and I'm on the short list for the short bus schools. You feel me?"

Rapid blinking began as he passed a hand over his face, masking a grimace and a sigh. "Yeah, I got it. How about this; you get done at six and wrap up your shit. Go home and relax. At ten to eight, you meet me at Sydney's for a Danish, something. Okay? I need to run something past you."

"Fair enough, my homie; now kindly go fuck off so I can log my time."

"Yeah…don't sell shit; I'm watching you."

It took four hours, give or take, before Jose came down the street, around the corner and walking into Sydney's like he'd loaded his home-boy pants. Loki had watched him the whole time and he never made a sale; if that was by design or because he'd been seen talking to a cop earlier, David really couldn't be sure. Even if he had, the detective probably wouldn't have arrested him as he'd previously threatened; the good man he'd become saw the same broken down hopeless teen he'd used to be in Jose now. It was something he pitied, something the man wanted to change in the kid and nurture him in the same way others had nurtured Loki's talents and strengths before. Turn them into something positive…

"Pull your pants up before you sit down at this table." David didn't even look up. He set his coffee back down after taking a swig and washing down the cream cheese Danish he'd just consumed. "I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit here…" He paused, blinking a couple of times. "With a kid that looks like he loaded his pants… I can see your Fruit of the Loom. No one needs to see that."

Jose Miguel smirked smugly. "The girls dig it."

"Do I look like the fairer sex to you?" More blinking… "They just wanna see your jollies, and by law, you're still jail bait. Put it away and pull them up, Pants-on-the-Ground."

"You're just jealous."

"Yeah…that's it." Loki pursed his lips. Rolling his eyes wasn't his style but he was doing it in his mind's eye. This kid was definitely him in his youth. All mouth, brawn, and brains in spades; too bad he didn't know that he _**didn't**_ know it all. That kind of wisdom came to David much later, after years of trials and hard knocks. Hopefully this kid was smarter than he'd been. "My questions are about your business model. Your boss, the hierarchy in the system; do you have access to any of that information?"

Jose sat across from Loki in the booth and shrugged limply. "I don't have access to anything big-time. I'm strictly need-to-know. And all I know right now is; I don't need to know."

"You're worried they'll punish you if they even suspect you helped me in any way."

"Punish me!? Hell no, Copper! They finger me for helping you and they take me out of circulation; I went and expired. You feel me? My life expectancy just flat-lined."

David's blinking was maddening; he was stressed on the case and worried about the kid. It made sense but it unnerved him anyway.

Jose gestured at his own eyes when he addressed the detective again. "Hey, you know, not to be rude but…man, they got shit for that now. Like, you know Tourette's meds or something…"

"For what?" David knew what the kid was on about but decided to play the ignorant card.

"Your eyes, man! Ain't nobody making fun of you if you fix the problem."

"Nobody's making fun of me. No one usually mentions it."

"Oh…"

"Why? Does it bother you? The fact I have a facial tic…?" Loki's lip curled up just a bit, as if to display distaste.

"Oh, no! Shit, man, I ain't bothered by nothing!" The teen was of Latin heritage, which was an unfortunate truth along the streets of any community. In this case, his heritage afforded Jose with a propensity for being quick-witted and a will to learn while the culture of the streets told him he wouldn't see college and he'd probably drop out of high school.

"Good, so we can still be friends." It wasn't said as a question.

"Goddamn! Why you gotta do this to me, man? Huh? You're making me worried. I'm afraid for my life, Cabron!"

"I won't pull up on your street anymore, okay? But…users are dying from ODs fast, Jose and I need to find out why, so… Anything goes down that's new or anything fishy comes across to you, you call me, yeah? Find a way to call me."

"Yeah… Guess I could do that… Shit…"

Ѫ

A month.

That's how long it took to make in-roads into a well-oiled drug running, cartel run ring.

Under the best of times, it took longer. These weren't nearly the best of times. And anyway, perfectly crafted backgrounds and false identities that could pass muster were for pussies… Cara Mason was no motherfucking pussy!

"I like cats, don't get me wrong." She sat on the stoop of her apartment complex, cigarette lit, talking to herself as she sometimes did to pass the monotony. Well, almost…talking to herself…

The old man that sat on the bench beside the wrought iron gates looked up with a look of absolute stupor on his face. "Wha-…?" There was a pause where the old man looked super lost, more lost than usual. "Cats? I've never liked cats. Don't bring cats here! Poison!" He was currently waving his arms around as if to prove his point somehow.

"Wow…" Cara side-eyed the elder. "Uh, poisoning animals is not kosher dude."

"Kosher! How did you know I'm a Jew!?"

Instead of replying Cara stuck her cigarette between her plump berry stained lips and took a deep drag off of it. Originally she'd come out here to think but as soon as she'd stepped out into the light, a strange car parked across the street and a block down caught her trained eye. It was a dark sedan with no other markings or anything. In this neighborhood no one could leave their vehicle for long without getting it lifted or painted in exciting new ways, so; it had to be a cop car. She'd been discreetly watching since then but no movement inside or out as yet. The most she could say for herself was that she knew someone was in the car, which meant they were more interested in watching than acting; that was good for her. It meant he didn't have shit on her to act on. It was also the first time she'd seen the car, which meant whatever lead he had on her involvement was new and weak. It was likely that her new friend was their local PD, Detective Loki. Well, wasn't he full of piss and vinegar!? After all, according to her boss he was directed to cease and desist with the rest of his department… Interesting. Maybe it was about time he got to meet his replacement on the case. Maybe it was about time she went over and said hello…

A few weeks ago, if someone had told him another three people would overdose and he'd be only one lead away from hanging it up, David Loki would have said that someone needed a serious attitude adjustment. Either that or to get their face rearranged… Sadly, however, that lie was now a glaring reality for him. Every day he felt more lost than the last. Until that call came in…

It was Wednesday and he sure needed to get over the hump of this week. Little pad of notebook paper in hand, Detective Loki stood beside the metal table in the Coroner's office, the morgue, waiting for Florence to come in and give her report. The body on the table was their latest victim; another girl, by the look of her she was no more than thirteen or fourteen. It was getting to him, all these deaths and these poor kids who wouldn't even have a life thanks to some unscrupulous, evil, heartless person who pushed drugs on kids and their suppliers who pushed drugs into this country. It was a waste, all of it. More so, it was a waste to lose those adolescents and what they could have been in this world if they had lived, if they hadn't made a mistake like that.

"I'd ask what you're thinking about…" Flo broke into the detective's reverie. She could tell when he started blinking repeatedly and swallowed awkwardly, eyes shifting in their sockets as his mouth formed something akin to a half-hearted albeit wordless apology. Flo smiled back. The expression was much more genuine, softer and caring. "But then asking what's not on your mind is probably a shorter list…"

He smirked like that was a good one, but his heart wasn't in that look either. "You got me. This case had got me all tied up in knots. It's even worse than those missing girls last year." He pauses, looking down at the young girl as Florence uncovers her to the clavicles. She's so cold now. She's so alone. Her eyes shouldn't be closed, damnit! "This shouldn't be happening!" Loki got visibly angry from virtually nothing, nothing anyone could measure.

"You're right. It shouldn't."

"I should have solved this already!" David gesticulated wildly. "I should have saved lives! I should have… She'd be alive now." He was less distraught and angry and more sickened by sadness. All the fire was leaving him.

"Stop that right now! You don't know that. You can't know that. You're doing all you can with what you have. So, drop the pity party and let me and young Alyssa here tell you more. She wants justice, David. She deserves it and you can get it for her. She knows you can get it for her because I told her, as I counted the one and only puncture wound on her arm, that you could. And she told me she wants justice for everyone else this has touched, too."

David's tic kept his eyes and eyelids busy even as his mouth clamped tightly shut. He didn't have a good response. All this time he'd claimed to be doing this for the victims and their families but it was much more personal than that. He fought his own substance abuse issues in the past, demons he'd survived…barely, to get to where he was now. The same demons took friends that, at the same time in his life, meant everything to him and literally took their lives. And now it was back…

"Of course, you're right."

"Of course I am!" Florence narrowed her eyes at him playfully. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Meet Alyssa, through your good eyes." The word 'good' when used that way meant more than eyes that saw well. "Then I'm beating the streets until I have more to go on. No time to lose hope when you've got people depending on you."

Flo smiled wider now. "I think now we understand one another, sir."

The report was the same as the last. They were all the same. Some had been users for a long time, shooting up with too much, thinking they had reached a certain tolerance. Most were new users like these adolescents. Neither party could know how much to administer because the drugs they used were different than usual. Just how, David couldn't say. This was on his mind when his cell rang in the breast pocket of his dress shirt. He had an old flip phone, one that didn't take up much room. And that was a good thing since he spent most of his time trying to remove the unnecessary from his days and the clutter from his life. He walked out of the morgue with an easy but purposed gait, answering on ring number three. "Yeah…? Detective Loki speaking…"

"You know you shouldn't answer phones like that 'less you're at work right? What happens, somebody's got your snitch's phone trying to find out if they a snitch!? You over there: Detective Loki speaking, and I'm deep six invested for sure!"

"Hello, Jose. Good to hear your voice, too."

Jose Miguel scoffed derisively and interrupted him. "Hell! You got a jacked up sense of what's nice, don't you? Shit… Man, I'm pissing myself over here. Do you want what I got or not? You told me to call if something occurred to me."

"I thought for a moment you only called to complain." Loki finally replied, blinking a few times, trying not to smile.

"You're really funny. Didn't your mom ever tell you not to be a smartass in the face of someone else's turmoil?"

"I never actually knew my mother…so no."

"Damn, sorry bro…"

"It's alright; you didn't know." David was at his best with children. He rarely got angry enough at them to even raise his voice! His facial tic remained, a testament to his nerves, his anxiousness and his internal threshold for stress. Kids weren't like adults; they didn't say things with every intention of rubbing salt in a wound. "So, what do you have for me?"

"It'll be like Christmas for you, man. There's a hot chick and everything!"

Fast forward a number of hours and Loki had his sedan parked across the street and down the block from where he'd been told to look for answers. Jose had said there was a new shot-caller in town, a woman. He didn't know much more than that but he had said she looked foreign and way too pretty to be an addict or a local gang or drug affiliate. Now that Loki was on site, now that he saw her first-hand; he was sure Jose was right about one thing: she wasn't local. If she had been, he or someone he worked with would have arrested her at least once before. And her face wasn't one Loki would forget; not for any reason other than she was strikingly beautiful. Hell, if she wasn't a criminal she might have been his type. Small and – probably – vicious. He barely stifled a laugh. "Probably likes it rough, too…" His eyes widened infinitesimally when the words actually came out of his mouth. That wasn't why he was here. He shouldn't be losing his focus! His eyes blinked rapidly as he watched her on the stoop with what appeared to be a homeless man not far away. She stood abruptly, her eyes finally, noticeably set on his unmarked unit. "Fuck!" He swore low as she moved down off the stoop. "Shit!" Did he sit there or did he flee the scene? One gear shift and a quick jerk on the wheel and he was gone…

Cara stepped off the stoop, her eyes now staring down the unmarked and the not-so-mystery occupant. Every word of warning Ryan said to her was kicking around in her head. 'Don't involve him, Car. Don't you do it!' Her inner self, the part that was smart, screamed at her to follow procedure to the letter. The other part of her, the part that acted more than it spoke, was urging her to close this case for once and for all…by any means necessary. This detective, he was supposed to be good, right? Closed and solved every case he'd ever been given, right…? He would be an asset, not an added problem. If he was anything like Cara, then both of them could combine their ferocity, their tenacity, and put an end to these assholes for good.

One hand on the gear shift, the other on the wheel; his right foot went from barely rested on the ignition peddle to fully depressing the brake. The woman stopped, her steps halted but her eyes; those blue grey orbs that he could see from there – and rather than unsettling him, those same eyes made him feel fully alive; which was unsettling in itself – bore icily through his tinted glass at him, as though she could see him. He was now no closer to deciding what to do than he had been minutes ago… He could tell this would be a lead he would never get again; if he screwed this up, he was on his own, pissing in the wind…

Even Jason's warnings meant very little at that moment. The brunette agent could feel the detective's presence there, as though she knew he was staring back at her just as assuredly as she was staring at him through the glass, the tinted glass, really. She could just as likely be staring at a Bob Newhart look-a-like in a cheap suit; she didn't know. "Come on…" Cara murmured, barely moving her lips at all.

The wheels turned in his head. She was right there! But, she wasn't doing anything illegal! If he brought her in, if he picked her up; how would he explain it?

How would she explain it? Some pretty crazy ideas were taking a hold of her right now. Getting arrested was the last thing on her boss's list for her to do; it should have been last on hers…

The air in the street was heavy with early afternoon emissions; it was only fitting that neither of them could breathe as they waited. She smiled. It was a genuine expression that used all the necessary muscles and bore her teeth. She was unsettling. Why had she done that? The air between the two of them seemed to charge, even as she backed away. Minutes later she disappeared from view but David knew he'd see her again.

Inside the apartment, Cara lit a cigarette and called a number from her burner phone. When the call connected she let out the long drag she'd been holding. "We need to talk." Her tone was clipped. "Their little puissant shit-heel with the boys' home sob story just showed up outside my place. What, are we sharing the rent now? Yeah, because to my understanding, he just took up residence in our collective assholes! Isn't it your job to make sure this shit doesn't happen!?"


End file.
